


Multi-Fandom Drabbles

by Galysh_Sky



Series: Multi-Fandom Drabbles [1]
Category: Gate 7, Haikyuu!!, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Tales of Berseria, Tales of Zestiria, 学園ベビーシッターズ | Gakuen Babysitters
Genre: F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Murder, Non-Canonical Character Death, Off-screen Character Death, Torture, more character tags to be added - Freeform, non-canonical amputation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 12:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh_Sky/pseuds/Galysh_Sky
Summary: Collection of various AUs, shorts, and drabbles from my various fandoms.





	1. Pretend you never had an older brother (Gakuen Babysitters)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> Accepting requests, leave a comment if you have questions.

**_Pretend you never had an older brother_**  

              Close your eyes and take a deep breath, let it out slowly, do it again, as many times as necessary until the dried blood cracking on your skin feels like the finger paints of your childhood.

             Breath in and pretend. Pretend you never had an older brother. You were born an only child to an overworked mother, in a dirty apartment somewhere. You never knew your father and you never wanted to. You never attended sport games because you never had a big brother to cheer on. You never became obsessed with baseball or fencing. You never learned how to work out your issues with words, or how to be part of a team. Your mother was too busy to yell at you, and there was no one around to smack some sense into you so you never learned how to apologize. You never learned how to make friends, because you never learned how to control your temper. You learned how to tell lies, how to smile so that you looked fierce and scary. You learned how to climb out windows and sneak around creaky steps.

          You never had a big brother to carry you around and sit with you till you feel asleep, so you never learned how to face your fears. You never watched Color Rangers. You never thought deep down inside that your big brother was YOUR Red Ranger. You never ran to him when you were scared. You never learned how to make your mother’s favorite meals, because no one ever taught you. You never made any friends in your class, so you never noticed when they started disappearing. You never rusted your big brother with your secrets, trusted him to protect you no matter what, because he never existed. You never ran to him for help, and he never bled out on a dry dusty dessert. You never had a big brother. You never adored him, idolized him, and he never loved you. He never became your Red Ranger and you never saw him die.

         You never held his cold body in your arms, because he never died, because he was never born, because you never had a big brother.


	2. Two Old Troublemakers (Tales of Zestiria)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Slayer AU Drabble

#  **_Two Old Troublemakers_ **

               As it turned out, Zaveid had been correct about the urgency of Edna’s request, something which only displeased Eizen further. He closed the door gently, before lowering the bag to the ground with just as much care and approaching the bed his partner had decided to pass out on. The seraph was curled away from him, boots still on his feet, and the tattoos twined in a spiraling pattern at the base of his neck as opposed to their normal sprawl. Eizen watched him until he saw the shoulder rise and fall several times before he lowered himself onto the bed. Despite his care Zaveid twitched and came awake as if someone had poked him viciously, his domain flaring briefly until it clashed with Eizen’s recognizing the coolness as an _ally_.

                “Hey,” Eizen greeted softly, holding himself still until Zaveid rolled over to face him. He received a mumble in return, before a gust of wind rammed insistently into his shoulder and he conceded by lying down. His partner promptly rolled once more, to rest his head atop of Eizen’s chest as opposed to the pillow. The earthen brought a hand up and ran it through the tangled strands, mentally writing a memo to take a brush to it later. “Lailah?” he asked, receiving a nod but no other details. Eizen smiled to the unfeeling ceiling, spread his domain out into a protective shell and closed his eyes, swiftly dropping down into the darkness of sleep.

                When he next opened his eyes, Zaveid was still a warm mass sprawled across his torso, but he was no longer sleeping instead he was tracing idle patterns, drawing what felt like the beginnings of a complex diagram. Eizen lifted a hand and patted the top of the fluffy head, “having fun?” he asked.

                Zaveid hummed before he sat up, scooting about till he could face his friend. “There’s a new shepherd,” he announced without preamble. Eizen blinked twice, shoving his initial flash of surprise to the back of his mind, he arched an eyebrow instead. “He’s a kid,” Zaveid spat, his brow furrowed, eyes darkening, “a damn kid with no idea what he’s been thrown into. He’s going to get destroyed.”

                “I assume he’s with Lailah?”

                Zaveid snorted at the question, and reaching up to grip a fistful of hair, rustled it viciously. “Lailah’s seen how many shepherds again, Cap’? Eight? Twelve? Yet not even 24 hours in, and she’s already sporting deadly wounds worthy of a major battle.”

                “This is the worse Age of Chaos we’ve seen in centuries,” Eizen pointed out mildly, he rose from the bed and made his way to the satchel clung over a chair. A bit of searching revealed a brush, he turned back in time to see his friend flop over and flail an arm dramatically.

                “They only happen every few centuries!”

                Eizen sighed and returned to the side of the bed, eyeing the distasteful mess Zaveid had made of his braids. “So, we’ll hold off the hellions until Lailah and Zenrus have trained him up. And if dies, he dies, what’s so different about this one?”

                Zaveid stared up him from under the shelter of his arm, eyes narrowed and calculating. The pirate captain gazed back at him steadily, until Zaveid blinked and laughed mirthlessly. “Nothing I suppose, the world is getting rather overpopulated anyway. I’m sure Maotelus wouldn’t mind if some of them got annihilated.”  

                Eizen hummed pensively, motioning for the wind Malak to sit up and turn around. At the back of his mind plans were brewing, ideas forming and dissipating as swiftly as the incoming tide. Foremost was the thought of visiting his little sister a bit earlier than planned.


	3. Gate 7 Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an average day in the life of a University student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the Hamilton sound track is inspirational.

          _ **Gate 7 Drabble**_

         He gets the assignment halfway through his lecture, it’s a ‘drop-everything-and-go-one,’ so he does, slipping out of the classroom with barely controlled haste. He spares a moment to press a finger to his mark before vaulting down the stairs.

          The attack comes from faster than anticipated and Hana flies with the force of it. He’s dimly aware of the free loader yelling, more focused on the sharp gasp that comes from behind him, on the blade in Hana’s hand that is cracking. Hana pauses to take stock, glancing down at the blade in their hand before looking to them.

           “Tora,” they say, and the Oni growls an affirmative.

           “Sakura-san?” The free loader’s voice is all kind of panic, “Hana-san?!”

         Their opponent snickers and comes around for round two. The sword shatters, raining dark shards everywhere. A moment later there is another Yin weapon is Hana’s hands, a large Krull Glaive that gleams darkly. It’s perfect for culling arrogant monsters. Hana launches back into the fight, a deadly dance unfolding. There’s a soft groan from behind him but Tachibana does not turn, instead he takes a few steps backwards until he can feel the brush of Tora’s fur against his side. From there all he must do is back around the tiger, shove the free loader out of the way, and grasp Sakura’s arm when he staggers.

         Sakura makes a relieved sound and leans against his shoulder, he has an arm wrapped around his chest a clear tell of what bones just broke. Tachibana wraps an arm around his side and stands as steady as he can. Hana continues to demolish the Oni; a certain air of irritation having appeared in their movements. The freeloader flutters around, obviously torn between calling encouragements to Hana and fretting over the injured tree. The Oni lets out a roar, fails to swipe Hana out of the air and collapses in a spread of ripples, its form fading away into glittering bubbles. Hana lands neatly, the weapons disappearing and darts over, concern surfacing now that there is no more danger.

        Around them the kekkai is receding, leaving the group sitting in a Ferris wheel booth at his highest arc. Chikahito, small blessing, does not yelp and flail about as had been his previous habit, instead he leans forwards to place a hand on Tora and revert her to a more manageable form, relieving Sakura from her bulk. Tora leaps across to curl up in the free loader’s lap and commences to clean her fur. Tachibana pulls his arm out from where it was trapped behind Sakura, letting his fingers curl briefly at his neck. His pulse is a bit rapid for Tachibana’s taste. Sakura slumps over a little more, ducking his head to press it into Tachibana’s neck, his breath rustling through the finer hairs there. He straightens up a moment later as the Ferris wheel resumes its downwards descent and smiles brightly. “Well, that went well.”

        The freeloader laughs nervously, but Tachibana just growls making an internal note to speak some choice words to their boss right after he’s seen Sakura to a bed. When they reach the bottom, Tachibana lets the kids proceed first once again taking some of Sakura’s weight. It is a slow and halting trip back to the shrine.


	4. Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He supposed that it could be considered bad form to punch his best friend's brother. 
> 
> Or.
> 
> Shaemus fails at doing damage control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was dabbling around in the T.W.E.T playground, so have a drabble.

             _Theme 52; "Princess"_

               “Papa! Papa! There’s someone at the door! Come quickly!”

                The cry came at an ungodly hour of the morning, and Francis was tempted to just roll over and ignore it. His eldest daughter had not seemed particularly panicked, just excited. Francis burrowed his head under the pillow and took a few deep breaths, mentally running through a list of people that would show up on his doorstep bare minutes after the sun had begun to peak over the horizon. It was a very short list.

                “Papaaaaa!”

                He got up, pulled on his robe, and headed downstairs not bothering to muffle his yawn as ungracious as it was. Samantha was standing on the last step peering around the corner with wide eyes, she jolted slightly when he brushed a hand through her curly hair. “It’s a man, Papa,” she said seriously, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. “He won’t leave the doorstep.” His mental list rapidly shrinking, Francis stepped around her and walked up to the front door. Camille was standing on the stoop, hands on her hips and a bright grin on her face. She appeared unbothered by the man towering over her. The man himself had a small smile on his face and was bent slightly towards her as she talked. He was dressed in clothes much too cumbersome for the weather, black  hair poked out from beneath a woolen cap. Francis took a moment to scan his surroundings, the street was empty, devoid of both cars and pedestrians. Once satisfied that his visitor was alone he stepped out onto the porch, laying a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

                “I must say that this is a surprise,” he said mildly.

                Shaemus Kirkland looked up and grinned, it brought a warmth to his otherwise haggard face. Francis felt himself tense and Camille glanced at him concern darkening her gaze. “Papa?” She asked.

                “Ce n’est rien, ma Chérie,” Francis replied automatically, he guided her back into the house with one hand and held the door open with the other. Once Shaemus had stepped past him with a grateful nod, he closed the door and slid all the bolts home. “Princesse, why don’t you and your sister head upstairs to finish getting ready. Hmm?”

                Camille levelled him with a look of utter disbelief and swept a pleading look onto the man that might as well have been her uncle. But Shaemus only smiled and held up his hands, “I’ll be here when you get back, sweetling,” he said gently. Camille huffed and headed towards the stairs, collecting Samantha along the way. Francis followed to ensure that she had retreated to her room, before heading back down and joining his guest in the kitchen. Shaemus had claimed an empty glass and was guzzling water, he did not stop until he had almost emptied the carafe.

                “Is Alistair well?” Francis asked bluntly, he placed his hands in his pockets and forced them to unclench.

Shaemus quirked an eyebrow at him and looked amused, “what’s this I can’t visit you just because?”

                “The last two times you’ve deigned to visit, Alastair was bed ridden,” Francis replied, he cocked a hip and leaned against the counter. “Is he well?”

                The elder of the two shrugged, and Francis felt his patience abruptly snap but before he could act on it Shaemus spoke again. “He was supposed to have returned 3 days ago. Dyl called me to see if he’d crashed here and forgotten.”

                “Aly does not ‘forget to check in’,” Francis pointed out.

                “I’m aware.”

                Shaemus let out a sigh, he turned the glass about in his hands as if admiring how the light shone through it. eventually though, he set it down and fixed his host with a piercing look. “When was the last time you heard from my brother, Francis?” He asked.

                “2 months ago,” the answer had been on the tip of his tongue and he blurted it out without restraint. “When he called to cancel his visit. I assumed that he had been assigned a last-minute mission, or some such thing.”

                “Some such thing?”

                “You know what I meant, Aly can be irritatingly tight lipped about his work sometimes,” Francis replied, he stepped away from the table and moved to the window, peeking out between the blinds. When he turned back around Shaemus was on his phone a pensive look on his face, he didn’t respond to Francis’ numerous conversation prompts so the latter let it go and focused on breakfast instead. When the girls had gone to school he would have the time to grill Shaemus for all he was worth.


	5. Haikyu!! Drabble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A OMM&M Drabblet.

                “You know, I really hate to say this…”

                “Then don’t say it.”

                “But I totally called this.”

                “…Don’t.”

                “So, I’m thinking that I should get a prize, ya know, Kama-san?”

                The answer was a frustrated snarl and Futakuchi laughed brightly not even bothering to pretend fear. “Aww, don’t get so worked up, Kama-san, you’ll only burn yourself.” He stepped forwards until his toes were just shy of the cell barrier. In his pockets, his hands were forming fists, almost against his will. Gold eyes, deep set in a pale and sweaty face glared up at him for a heartbeat only to clench shut again when another spasm worked its way through the attached body. Futakuchi crouched down, binging himself to eyelevel with his superior. Chains rattled as Kamasaki shuddered and the teen felt a flicker of guilt rise. He squashed it back down angrily, pulling the image of Aone with claws resting against his jugular to the forefront of his mind. Kamasaki rolled over, his tank riding up to bare his stomach as tremors shook his body and he scrabbled helplessly at the concrete floor. Two weeks ago, Futakuchi would have practically smirked at the sight, delighted in seeing new glimpses of skin, now however, he imagined driving his sword right through the freshly inked seal contouring the older boy’s navel. It glowed an ugly red, steam drifting up now that there was no cloth to hide it. He tried to imagine how Kamasaki would look choking on his own blood, but Moniwa’s face shoved itself to the forefront of his mind, complete with disappointed eyes and tears. The knight wondered darkly if he’d known.

                “What are you still doing here?”

                Futakuchi looked up, smiling slightly at the hoarseness in the prisoner’s voice. “I told you,” he chirped, “I came to tell you ‘ _I told you so’_ to your face, you look very pretty right now, by the way.” He was treated to an angry flush blossoming across said face.

                “You’re a sick bastard,” his senior hissed.

                “Better that than a monster,” the reply fell off his tongue before he could think to restrain it, not that he particularly wanted to. Hurt flashed across Kamasaki’s face, before it went blank, emotions shutting off behind an impassive wall.

                “I see… I suppose that’s what I am now?”

                “Yea-“

                “Fuck that bullshit.”

                Futakuchi startled, snapping around, and rising to his feet, a hand automatically drifting to his empty sheath. The guards hadn’t allowed him to bring his sword down with him. The same restrictions apparently didn’t apply to the man stalking towards him. “Fuck that,” Sasaya repeated, voice barely more coherent than a growl. “Get out.”

                Futakuchi retreated a step before he could catch himself, compared to the chained monster behind him or even the captain, an enraged Sasaya was something to be feared. “I was only speaking the truth,” he pointed out, tone falling short of lighthearted, even as he sidled towards the exit. A low snarl was the only response and Futakuchi decided that it was high time for him to return to Aone’s side. He retreated up the stairs.


	6. Pull over. Let me drive for awhile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Irisdescent drabble.

The kids were asleep in the back. The twin’s in the captain chairs, even in sleep, their heads lolled towards each other. The rear bench was a mismatch of bodies. Taka was leaning against the window, his sword held loosely in one hand and the other resting on Kotaro’s fluffy head. His best friend had slid down to nestle against his side, legs entangled with Kirin who was leaning against the opposite window. Kamitani looked forwards again, the road continued onwards, a gray snake spiraling off into the mountains. On either side of the road, where once tall blades of wheat had thrived, now lay grey and barren dirt. His shoulder pulsed again, a dull ache that refused to fade out, and he flexed his fingers on the wheel, easing them off one at a time to shake out his hands. A soft snuffling noise drew his attention, Ryūichi was stirring, stretching out his limbs with a careless sort of grace. Kamitani snapped his gaze back to the road, gripping the wheel tighter as the car bounced over a rut.

“Kamitani?”

“What?”

“You alright?”

Kamitani glanced over again at the question, his co-polite was gazing at him with a slight frown. “You’ve been driving for a while, is your shoulder alright?”

“It’s fine,” Kamitani muttered, automatically reaching for said arm as it pulsated again.

“Hmm, pull over. let me drive for a while.”

“You hate driving though,” Kamitani replied even as he flicked on his signal and eased over to the shoulder. He’d learned long ago not to argue with the face Ryūichi was currently pulling. They swapped places in silenced, holding their breaths until the car doors were safely shut. Kamitani unlaced his boots and slumped down in the chair as Ryūichi adjusted the seat and mirrors. “You going to be okay,” he asked, voice devolving into a ow mumble as a wave of exhaustion swamped him.

“I’ll be fine.” A quick smile. “Get some rest.”

“Not tired-“ Kamitani started, but the words were cut off by a yawn, now that he wasn’t focused on the road exhaustion was setting in with a vengeance. His eyelids drooped and he yawned again, forcing out a request.

“Of course,” Ryūichi agreed, “sleep now.” A hand, slim fingers not meant to wield a sword, stroking his hair was the last thing he registered.


	7. "Please"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Iridescent Drabble. A little more violent, so be warned.

**“Please”**

_Unkempt Field, 33.661430/_ _-95.556320_

_July 8 th, 2024_

The blood, warm liquid that bubbled up between his fingers, would not cease. It soaked through his undershirt, curled around, over, under, his fingers, and escaped out into the grass. “C’mon. C’mon.” His voice no more than a whisper escaping his abused throat, couldn’t breach the gap. He pressed down harder, slipping down below the skin, eyes desperately scanning the pale face, tracing cherubic cheeks, long eyelashes, bruised lips parted allowing raspy breaths to struggle out. “C’mon. Talk to me, please.” His plea, heart’s wish given sound, went unanswered. Somewhere sirens wailed, trucks, cars, ambulances screeching down the road, but they weren’t coming to him, for them. By the time they thought to search the fields, it would be too late.

“Please,” he whispered again, bending down to press his face against the vested shoulder. “Please.” The sirens were growing louder, drowning out the words he mouthed. Another breath was the only reply, blood dribbling out of the corner of the boy’s mouth. He reached out and gently wiped it away, another red stain to add to his hands. A sound reached his ears, quiet, easily ignored, but there should have been nothing in the fields around them. He shifted back rising into a crouch, one hand still pressed against the ruined undershirt the other gripping his sword. His eyes scanned about, the tall grass swayed, but that was it. no chirping, croaking, animalistic cries, only silence. And then a snap. “Kota, please,” he murmured desperately, torn between keeping pressure on the wound and taking a defensive stance. Another crack, closer, louder, the grass trembling.

“Damn it.” He stood up, gripping the sword hilt with both hands and carefully stepped over Kotarō’s body. The footsteps were distinct now, heavy, dangerous, they drowned out Kota’s soft wheezing and he found himself crouching instantly, holding his hand over the mouth until the air reached his skin.

“Freeze! Drop the Weapon!”

“Hands in the air!”

He swallowed, more of a gulp, before slowly placing his sword on the ground and turning around. Guns. Large black guns that glinted slightly in the light.

“Hands in the air! Do it now!”

He spared a glance for Kota, and obeyed again, raising his hands up above his head. He couldn’t quite make himself look the man in the face though, instead he counted the boots that stalked closer. They’re were eight pairs of them, 4 people, all armed with guns and dressed in Kevlar.

“On your knees.”

The guns readjusted as he moved to obey, words catching in his throat, unable to even give voice to a plea. The gun muzzle bumped against his neck, forcing his chin up, so that he had no choice but to meet his aggressor’s gaze. “Your name.” The voice was warm, a slight drawl curling around the words, it sent a shiver down his spine.

“K-Kamitani Taka.”

“Taka, you say? How old are you?”

“…”

“Aww, it’s alright, no need to be scared just answer the question,” one of the men spoke up from behind him and a hand landed heavily on his shoulder, digging into his skin.

“18, I turned 18 a couple of weeks ago.”

“What’s a kid like yourself doing all the way out here?”

The question sounded genuine enough, even with the gun against his throat and the hand on his shoulder. “I…I’m trying to keep my friend frombleedingtodeath,” he blurted out.

SMACK.

Between the span of two breaths he found himself on the ground, his cheek stinging harshly. A hand grasped him by the back of his vest and hauled him upright, it was the man from earlier, Taka shivered as he stepped closer and pressed his knee into his lower back. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” The gun was back.

“Well, he was bleeding and there’s no…”

He didn’t collapse this time, the hand gripping his vest ensured that even as he sagged.

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear, kiddo,” the man spoke again and knelt in front of him. “My name is Alexander, and my friends and I want to know why a boy like you is wearing a Kevlar vest and carrying a sword. Clear?”

“I told you,” Taka muttered leaning as far away as he could, “I’m only here because my friend’s bleeding.”

“And. Why. Is. Your. Friend. Bleeding?” Despite the gloved hand gripping his neck hard enough to hurt, the voice remained calm and friendly.

“He… had an accident,” Taka chocked out, “why are you here?”

He saw the blow coming this time, but not the numerous ones that followed, feet striking his abdomen, back, arms, as he curled on the ground, tears gathering against his will and streaming down his face. “Now, now, you’re alright,” a hand, Alexander’s, stroked his hair gently, “really boy, you could make this so much easier.” Taka whined and struggled to scoot away but a foot planted itself on his back and kept him pinned.

“Careful John, can’t you see that vest is hurting him?” Alexander chuckled, and Taka shook helplessly as the hand continued to stroke his aching head. “Why don’t you take off, hmm? It can’t be comfortable wearing that thing like a common t-shirt.” They didn’t give him time to protest, dragging him upright and devastating him of the vest within moments, before forcing him back onto his knees.

“Now where was, I?” Alexander asked, his gun tracing an idle pattern up Taka’s chest to resume its place under his chin.

“He was telling us what he and his buddy were doing all the way out here.”

“Ah, yes. Well, Taka?”

Taka could only stare at him silently, the mention of Kotarō bringing with it the stark reminder that his friend was still in grave danger. Kota was in danger and there was nothing he could do to save him. _Nothing_. Taka shook his head violently, dislodging the gun and summoning his courage glared up at Alexander. “You were going to tell me why _you_ were out here,” he said. The pain came again, sharp stinging slaps that shook him and added more bruises to his skin.

“Taka,” Alexander said gently as he gasped in air, “open your mouth.” Taka stared up at him, wide-eyed, but the man only smiled, and grabbed his jaw forcing his mouth to open wide. Wide enough for the barrel of a gun to fit inside. “Listen up now,” he continued, and the gun shifted slightly forcing its way further in. “Earlier today someone broke into a very important building and stole something, we’re here to get that something back.” The man pulled the gun out wiped it off on his pant leg and pointed it at Taka’s stomach and fired.

Taka screamed, collapsing forward to wrap his arms around his midsection and do something, anything to stop the pain. “Oh shush, it barely skimmed you,” Alexander said and hauled him up right, “quick your squealing.” The gun found its way back into his mouth and Taka bit it before he could control himself. “The next one goes into your brain, kiddo, so start talking.”

“Gah. Geh…Ah.” Even if he had wanted to, Taka wasn’t sure he could speak, every inch of his body ached. He could barely keep his eyes open much less focus on the man in front of him, who was talking again, words interspersed with his heavy hand, but Taka’s ears were ringing, and he couldn’t hear. His head pounded, and he swayed almost hitting the ground before he was hauled upright again. There was a hand on his head ruffling his hair painfully and then he was on the ground, staring blankly at the grass around him. The ground was vibrating, something heavy fell over and the ground shook, as the ringing in his ears quieted voices began to reach him but the words remained indistinguishable.

When Taka returned to his senses the first thing his eyes landed on was a head. Alexander’s head lay on the ground, eyes wide and unblinking and mouth still parted from his last words. The rest of his body lay several feet away, it was not the only one. Taka groaned and tried to rise, but his arms gave out half-way through and he collapsed again.

“Taka!”

A voice, bright and familiar reached his ears, and a moment later Kirin was flinging herself down next to him. “Taka, it’s okay, don’t move. You’re alright, you’re going to be okay. We’re here now.” Her hands usually brusque and rough were gentle as they skimmed over his skin, but Taka couldn’t keep from flinching. “Just hang on, Haya-nii will be back shortly. He went after the last guy, Ryuu-nii is with Kota,” Kirin rambled on. “Hey, wait!”

Taka ignored her surging upright as thoughts of Kotarō filled his head, making it all the way to his knees before his strength faded and Kirin was obliged to catch him. “Kirin,” he gasped out, “I gotta… I gotta get to Kota. Please.”

“Okay, just calm down,” Kirin replied. “We’ll go together.”


	8. "I saved a piece for you" (TOS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops? Was world building my R.O.G.U.E fic, and this was spat out so here you go.

_"I saved a piece for you." ft. "Blood."_

The room was loud, filled to the brim with pulsing body heat and loud voices. Thoughtless voices flung back and forth as if any of them had meaning or worth. It was easy enough to slink down below their line of sight, they’d all but forgotten about him anyway, preferring to rip each other to pieces. Still it wasn’t as if he could leave the room, the doors were blocked by his father’s goliaths, and the window shades had been raised. Should he make a foolish dash for freedom before he’d been granted permission, he’d be shot down without mercy. Fleeing was just as cowardly, and just as damning as an admission of guilt. Zaveid sighed and slumped back against the wall, running a hand tiredly through his braided hair. His head hurt, his leg hurt, his back hurt, being pulled off base the moment Alpha had touched down had only granted him the opportunity to change not the 48 hours of sleep he needed to recover from their latest grueling mission. 

 He closed his eyes and did his best to tune out the yelling, at this rate if no one interfered it would probably devolve into a fist fight and he was too tired to deal with that. What did it matter anyway, if the spare wanted to elope and marry some random woman, the council would all be dead within the next 20 years, what did they care? Zaveid let out another sigh and tugged half-heartedly at his tie, not quite daring to loosen it, though he hated the feeling of cloth on his neck. There wasn’t much to do other than wait out the mess, unless his Father remembered his existence and dragged him over to testify or some such shit. His phone chose that moment to vibrate and he fished it out, checking the screen to see a text from the Alpha chat pop out followed swiftly by several more. The sight brought a slight smile to his face, but he muted the phone and tucked it back away. He looked around the room, noting that a lot of the chaos appeared to have quieted down, as his Father had risen from his seat and placed his meaty palm onto the table. Zaveid straightened up instinctively, letting his hand briefly grip his gun, before placing it in his pocket.

“Have you finished?” The voice was smooth, a deep baritone, that brought an immediate silence to the room. “All I’m hearing is excuses, failures, complaints, the words of pathetic human lambs. I was not aware that we were in the practice of harboring such low lives.”

The room was silent but for the shifting of clothing, crisp suits, heavy cloth rubbing against itself as the people seated around the table exchanged glances.

“Well?” When no one failed to answer his second query he huffed, and leaned further onto the table, “Listen well then, for your Master is speaking. Those dogs think they can encroach on our territory without repercussions? Wipe them out, chase them back to their slimy holes, and burn out their brood until nothing is left but the dust of their bones.”

“That’s a little extreme-ghrk.” The words cut off in a trail of blood, as the speaker young enough to not have known better, but powerful enough to be granted access to the room wheezed desperately. Zaveid felt a twinge of guilt, the knife hilt sticking out of the man’s chest was wrapped in red cloth, it was unlikely that the speaker would survive the night. He looked up at the rafters, eyes scanning about until he spotted a familiar shape, a mess of shadows convalescing into a vaguely human form. He strengthened his eyes, focusing until that form sharpened into that of a man; Aaron.

“-Wipe them out and take back our streets.”

There were various murmurs of agreement, as one by one heads slowly bowed.

“Good. Damiãno, I leave this to your hands.”

“As be your will, Sir,” One of the seated men replied.

“Boy,” His father continued, and Aaron dropped down from above, landing lightly before he immediately sunk into a kneel. “Zaveid.” Thus called, Zaveid stepped out from behind the meager shelter of his pillar and approached the head of the table, he kept his gaze demurely lowered but did not kneel. “I have a task for you two…”

When he did not continue, Zaveid chanced a glance upwards, his father was toying with a knife the blade of which was a deep blue and sent chills travelling down his spine. “I am aware that your job keeps you quite busy as it is, but there is an issue that must be resolved.” Red eyes, only a shade darker than his own and Zaveid barely controlled the urge to step back, “Deal with it.” The knife was tossed at him and Zaveid caught it, unwrapping the binding to see the name that had been written inside. It was not familiar to him, and he couldn’t help but feel relieved at that.

“As be your will, Sir,” he murmured dutifully, and his father nodded before flicking a lazy hand at them. “Off with you then, deal with that, and return to your duties.”

Zaveid did not need to be told twice escaping from the room with Aaron on his heels. He was already tugging the tie from around his throat as the doors slammed shut behind them and releasing the first button of his shirt.

“Welcome back, go kill some people for me,” Aaron said drily, “who’s the unlucky bastard?”

“Eh, hell if I know,” Zaveid replied, and tossed him the knife. There was a pause before Aaron let out an unkind chuckle, “This is one of Artorius’ men, poor sob.”

“What’d he do to get put on the naughty list?”

“Hell, if I know.” The knife came whistling back his way and Zaveid tucked it into his belt with a sigh. “Shouldn’t be too difficult though.”

                      ****************************************************************************************************************************************

“I don’t get payed enough for this.”

“We don’t get payed at all,” Aaron replied, voice sounding distorted and far off through the ear piece.

“We could get payed though, that’s all I’m saying, you know? A monthly allowance, couple of dollars for every kill. It would be nice is all.”

“Are you procrastinating?” Aaron asked, faint amusement trickling into his voice. Zaveid could see him clearly in his mind’s eye, perched up on the roof, his eye pressed to the scope, and his wings already out in preparation of a swift getaway.

“In my defense, I haven’t slept in 48 hours,” Zaveid said, he chanced a glance around the wall again, noted the back of the guards as they disappeared around a curve and vaulted the fence. Swiftly he crossed the yard, ducking below the low hanging branches of a weeping willow and launched himself at the wall. Reinforced fingers allowed him to dig into the mortar between the stones with ease and he was pulling himself onto the roof by the time the guards were completing their sweep. He carefully set down his pack and made his way towards the roof top entrance. In his ear, Aaron was silent, none of the banter they often engaged in when on duty with the Alpha and Zeta units, focused only on the kill. Zaveid shimmied the lock and padded down the stairs, until he’d reached the second story of the building. Their target had retired to room 207, a single bed/bath according to the floor plans. “Kill the cams,” Zaveid ordered, waited ten seconds and then strode out into the hall, the lock on this door was a bit tougher and took an additional 30 seconds to ratchet into the place. The deadbolt broke with a soft snap, and Zaveid stepped inside, closing the door carefully behind him.

It was a simple room, a little messy, but nice enough. Zaveid picked his way through, sensitive hearing picking up the sound of breathing from the furthest room. The door opened with a quiet snick, and he paused long enough to ensure that nothing moved before stepping inside. The target lay sprawled across his bed, mouth open as he snored, blissfully unaware of what stood over his bed. He did no more than snuffle in his sleep when Zaveid eased his way onto the bed, and with a swift movement slit his throat. He scooped up one of the spare pillows and covered the guy’s face until the blood flow ceased and his raspy breaths faded out. Zaveid rose, carelessly cleaned the knife on the bed spread, before removing one of his feathers from the kill bag, soaked it, and carefully eased it into an empty baggy.  “It’s done, heading back to the roof,” he said quietly and left the room. The roof was he had left it, empty, and his bag still hidden. Zaveid slung it back on and peered over the edge, waiting patiently until the guards had once more passed below him before scaling down the wall, making his dash across the yard and out into the street.

Aaron met him at the street corner, the picture of nonchalance in his baggy hoodie and beany cap, were it not for the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “As you said, not too difficult at all,” Zaveid said and clapped him on the back. Aaron shrugged him off, stepping away to avoid a repeat before he replied, “the last step is always the hardest, you know that.”

“He might be asleep for all we know it’s near 4 in the morning,” Zaveid said, though he knew the statement to be untrue long before the words left his mouth.

“Don’t be a moron, he’s worse than you when it comes to sleeping,” Aaron snapped back, and cut the conversation short by swinging onto his motorcycle, “see you at the base.” He was gone a moment later, the revving akin to thunder in the early morning air, Zaveid followed suit.

The feeling that it had been an unusually easy kill lingered, as Zaveid parked his bike and strode into the main building, heading for the top floor and his father’s office. He did not see Aaron, but he had no doubt that the younger man was tracing his steps. The guards let him through without a word, and Zaveid approached the large desk where his father was seated the light of his computer reflecting off his face.

“We’ve–“

“You took your time,” Cold eyes flitted over him, and Zaveid ducked his head semi-apologetically, knowing better than to offer up any words. “But you have returned, successfully, I presume?” He held out a hand, and Zaveid immediately handed over the feather, preserved within its little baggy. “Good. I have no more need for you.” The imperious hand lifted again and Zaveid sketched out a bow before departing the room. Aaron smirked when he saw his face, but wisely kept his comments to himself.

“I’m returning to my apartment,” Zaveid said as he pulled out his phone, and began to check the long list of texts that he’d missed earlier. “Where are you off too?”

“Base,” Aaron answered, “gonna sleep this bullshit off and then prep for my next mission.”

“Alright.” Zaveid waved his partner off, collected his bike and began the long route back towards his own apartment located several miles out of clan territory. At this time of morning, the streets were peaceful and blessedly empty, as he sped down them crossing bridges and tearing through tunnels with a blatant disregard for the speed limit. Though it did cut him travel time in half, Zaveid parked his bike in the garage and stumbled his way up to his apartment. The last few days were beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders, exhaustion beginning to swamp his mind and slow his peripheral awareness. He yawned as he unlocked the door and stepped through into his apartments. He dropped the bag onto the ground, absentmindedly sliding the locks home before removing his boots and immediately stumbling over another pair of shoes. he looked down. his entranceway was filled with shoes, military boots like his, converses, and sandals that were unlike his.

Zaveid blinked, muffling a yawn in the crook of his elbow before forcibly wiping the haziness from his mind, and counting the shoes. There were only 5 pairs, so either someone had severely underestimated him, or Alpha had broken into his apartment again. Zaveid sighed and kicked his way through the mess, crossed the hall and slammed his way through the curtain shielding his living room from the front entrance. “Has anyone told you lot that it’s rude to break into people’s houses?” He snapped.

“Has anyone told you it’s rude not to answer your phone?” Velvet said, not bothering to take her eyes off the TV where she was engaged in a fierce match against Magilou, the occasional curse breaking out in between clenched teeth.

“We did text you,” Eleanor called out, a small smile on her face, “but when you didn’t reply, we figured you’d might have passed out somewhere again.”

“I don’t pass out,” Zaveid muttered, he glared around the room noting the take-out boxes and bottles of soda. “We have a Captain, you realize, you’re supposed to crash at his place.”

“Captain and Ro are in the kitchen,” Eleanor said cheerfully, she waved a foot at him, the only part of her that was visible from where she had sunk into the couch. “They’ve got food.”

Zaveid huffed at them and stalked his way into the kitchen, loosening his uniform as he did, and yanking off his blood-stained gloves. The kitchen was small, just large enough for the regular appliances and a few counters, but it had been apparently deemed big enough to house several beer boxes and his two remaining teammates. “Apparently I’m hosting the post-op?” Zaveid stated, as he shoved his way into the space and grabbed at the nearest bottle of beer. Eizen, seated on a counter, with his own bottle nestled between his legs, didn’t deign to reply, and Rokuro only laughed, low chuckles that were already on the edge of drunk. Zaveid rolled his eyes at them, and leaned back against the fridge, “did you at least save me some food?” he muttered.

“Did’ya one better,” Rokuro started brightly, but a squawk from the living room caught his attention and he left to go resolve it, yelling something about how he had, “called winner!”

“Do you mind?” Eizen asked quietly, and though he looked amused by the ruckus, his gaze was serious.

“Of course not,” Zaveid said, “you brought my favorite beer and all, I won’t complain.” He waved said bottle to emphasize, before taking a long sip.

“Hnng.” Eizen set his own bottle down and then slid off the counter, motioning for Zaveid to scoot out of the way as he approached. The latter did as bid, tilting his head curiously, as Eizen rummaged his way through the fridge, eventually stepping back with a box in his arms. “Here.”

Zaveid accepted it and flipped the lid up only to grin brightly at the array of different morsels that filled it, most of which were meat, but one was a sizeable slice of cake.

“Wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for,” Eizen continued, “so I saved a few different pieces for you.”

“Bless you Cap’,” Zaveid said, “I’m going to…” he motioned with his head towards the showers, and hastily set the food down, else he’d give in to the impulse to just stuff his face immediately before he’d a chance to was off the blood and grime. Eizen, because he was kind like that, just waved him off and didn’t as about his bloody clothing. 

The apartment was loud, full of exasperated cursing and bright laughter, but it was warm, and Zaveid found that he didn’t mind as he settled down on the ground and slumped back against the sofa. He tuned his hearing back until their voices were only a dull murmur, easy enough to ignore as he slipped down into a doze. 


	9. Sacrifice (TOS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More R.O.G.U.E prompts.

“Sacrifice”

_“It’s alright. I’ll get you out.”_

If he took the time to think about it, there had never really been a choice, and wasn’t that just a kicker. For all the options that had been laid out before him, for all the doors that he had kicked down, it had all brought him here. Standing in this room, looking around at the family he’d cobbled together through blood, sweat, and tears. Except that family was dying and he had _no choice_. 

“Velvet.” He waited until her gaze lifted to meet his, though the traditional glower was on her face it was directionless. “Your arm is still working, right?” He received a sharp nod in answer, “okay. Then you’ve got Magilou, the two of you should be able to get to the evacuation point on your own.”

“I’m not,” Velvet started, but Zaveid was already turning away, fixating his gaze on their medic. Eleanor didn’t lift her focus from the stitches she was carefully applying to Rokuro’s back, but she twitched a foot at him to show that she was listening.

“Once Ro wakes up, I want you two to get to the shipyard,” Zaveid said, “They’ll be expecting you so don’t dally.” Eleanor’s glanced at him but didn’t argue. “Good,” Zaveid said softly, he walked the length of the small room, wings rustling slightly. “It’s simple, we got the Captain out, but they know where we came from so, they’ll be expecting a break-out and no offence,” he swung back around to face them, “none of you are in any shape to fight your way out of a paper bag.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Velvet snapped, but the pained curl to her body belayed her words, she like the others was covered in various bruising and cuts. She was seated on the ground, her gun cradled loosely in her arms and Magilou tucked up against her side, dozing while she could.

“You’re not looking too good either,” Eleanor pointed out, she tied off the bandage and straightened up. “We could hold them if we all worked together.”

“I’m the one with the healing factor,” Zaveid said, “and someone has to watch your rears, I’m the least injured.”

“You’ve got the highest price on your head, it’s barely lower than the captain’s.”

“Which just means that they’ll want me alive, you lot not so much. Besides.” Zaveid paused to pull up a larger smile, even if it did make his jaws ache, “I’ve just got wait long enough for you to send a rescue squad my way.”

The other two exchanged glances, but no one pointed out that they were the rescue squad that was usually sent in. “It’ll be fine,” Zaveid said, forcing out the lie with a wink, “I’ve had worse.”

“One day someone will put a bullet in your head, and you won’t be able to say that anymore,” Velvet said, but when he only grinned, she rolled her eyes and changed tactics. “Captain’s going to be pissed.”

“Captain should’ve thought of that before he took that bullet like a dumb-ass,” Zaveid said, arching a quelling eyebrow but Velvet looked even angrier.

“Captain wouldn’t have taken that bullet if he wasn’t so damned tired of seeing you take bullets for the rest of us!” She yelled, surging to her feet and taking a step towards him. The gun clattered to the ground and Magilou yelped as she was abruptly awoken.

“I’m the one with the healing factor,” Zaveid said, he shifted, and the wings flared out, a silent warning one which Velvet ignored as she continued to stomp towards him.

“Healing factor or not, doesn’t change the fact that you’re reckless and this is suici–woah!” She stumbled forwards catching herself on Zaveid’s shoulder as the building around them rocked violently, raining dust and mortar around their heads.

“Time’s up,” Zaveid murmured quietly when it had settled, “you all need to go. _That’s an order_.” He didn’t wait for them to reply, instead he checked his guns, and launched himself out of the broken window, wings spreading out to their full eye-catching glory. Outside the air was heavy, chockful of smoke and debris, in the distance bright lights flashed out across the skyline and he headed towards them with a few beats of his wings. The further he got away from his unit before he was forced to engage the enemy, the higher likelihood they had of making it back home. 

It wasn’t like he needed a rescue party either, he’d always been good at taking a beating and killing things. 


	10. Valentines Day Prompt (TOS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll, I literally had to create a separate AU for this scenario to go down, as my other two are much to dark. So here you go, have some fluff.

_“You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So, I think I’d have to say ‘yes.”_

             

                “Just go up there and talk to him already.”

                Zaveid startled, head snapping up and gaze flickering about until he realized that the voice had come from the com in his ear. He slumped back against the wall and muttered, “get off our com line, V. It’s for emergencies only.”

                “I’d say that your utter inability to talk to the guy is an emergency,” Velvet’s voice drifted through, sounding unbearably smug. “Honestly, and to think people voted you leader?”

                “Don’t think it was a vote as much as a coup d’état,” Theodora piped in and Zaveid groaned loudly, already regretting the decision to assign them to the same mission.

                “Look ladies, you’re both adorable and I love you dearly–“

                “You tried to shoot me last week.”

                “Of course, you love us, we keep you alive.”

                “That’s besides the point and you threw a knife at this gorgeous face, V, what were you expecting?” Zaveid continued, he glanced over to the stage again noting that the presentation was still going on. Velvet was growling in his ear, and had she been in sight Zaveid might have felt more threatened but as she wasn’t, he replied flippantly, “oh tone it down a little kitten, you sound as threatening as a cupcake.” Theodora’s startled laughter almost drowned out Velvet’s angry snarling, and Zaveid smirked proudly to himself. He took a sip of Monster and focused back in on the presentation. The speaker, a man around his age was still going strong, pacing back and forth on the stage occasionally flinging an arm wide as he spoke animatedly about some recent ruin discovery. Personally, Zaveid didn’t care if the ruin was turned into an apartment complex like the city so desperately wished but it was rather cute how determined the man was. He had already shot down three questions meant to rip his presentation to pieces and had moved on to explain just why these particular ruins were so important to the future growth of the city.

                “Love?”

                “Still here,” Theodora answered.

                “Just how much money does he need to finish his excavation?” Zaveid asked, there was a pause and he could hear the rapid tapping of keys as Theo tracked down the answer.

                Eventually it stopped and her reply came through, “enough money that you should really consider talking to him before making a donation.”

                “Don’t be cute, how much are we talking here?”

                “Around 20k, if not more. Zaveid, we’re already on thin ice, don’t be stupid,” Theodora said. Zaveid thanked her and stood up stretching out the kinks in his muscles, another glance showed him that the Q&A session had begun. He took the time to redo his ponytail, checked the placement of his knives and gun before making his way over to mingle with the audience. The turn-out had been about 50 people strong, mostly reporters as Velvet’s terse voice reminded him, but a few lawyers and other archeologists. Presently though, they were all distracted by the man on the stage, and he slipped past unimpeded.

                As he stood by the doorway, he slowly slipped his drink, mind tumbling between finances and the upcoming mission’s roster. In the aftermath of the take-over most of the units had been spread thin tracking down traitors, cleaning up supply lines, and other fun tasks but now as things were beginning to cool down most of them had been assigned a much-needed break. Conveniently enough for him, it also meant that there were no guards available to shadow his footsteps leaving him free to wander the city and listen in on public debates. Speaking of, the main speaker for the event had excused himself and was now heading towards the side exit. Zaveid finished his drink and moved to intercept.

                “That was quite the speech you gave out there,” he said, and the other man jumped, looking over his way in surprise. Blue eyes, blond hair, eyebrows already lowering into the beginning of a frown. “I’d say,” Zaveid clapped his hand together slowly, “come here often?”

                There was a pause, he was distantly aware of strangled laughter in his ear, but the man’s surprise was already fading into a bored expression. “Well,” he drawled, “I work here. So, I think that I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

                “You’re literally standing outside his office building! What do you mean, come here often?!” Velvet and Theodora’s voices blurred in his ear, over shadowing each other till the only thing left was static. Zaveid flinched, he could feel his face turning red, but he shook it off resolutely and hastened after the man catching up a few feet down the hall.

                “Okay okay, so that was really terrible.”

                “You don’t say.”

                “But, really, your speech was great!” Zaveid sped up, darting in front of the man so that he could see his face as they spoke. “It was so awesome, that I’m truly going to need your name to put on my report.”

                “Your report? You’re a reporter?” The look the man threw him had devolved into open skepticism, his eyes lingering on the loose pants and low-cut shirt.

                “They don’t care about the dress code!” Zaveid yelped, as the man met his gaze again, “besides not everyone can pull off a suit and tie the way you do!” He could feel his ears burning, a sure tell that they were bright red and though he had one of the best poker faces in the clan, he couldn’t seem to help it when the man looked at him like that.

                “What agency do you work for?” Said man asked, he stepped around Zaveid and continued walking.

                “It’s… it’s a baby one, I doubt you’ve heard of it,” Zaveid replied as he caught up once more, “but seriously, would you be–“

                “Eizen.”

                “What?” Zaveid stumbled to a halt, almost tripping over his own feet.

                “I said my name is Eizen, you can put that in your report,” The man said, and once more stepped neatly around him before disappearing behind a key-locked door.

                “Eizen,” Zaveid murmured to himself, and then louder for the sake of his com, “his name is Eizen!”

                “I can’t believe that actually worked,” Theodora replied, sounding faintly stunned.

                “I can’t believe how absolutely pathetic you are,” Velvet added, but Zaveid shook off their criticism and smiling faintly to himself strode towards the exit.


End file.
